


preference;

by nonbinarywithaknife (littleboxes)



Series: me sobbing about critical role [100]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drabble, F/F, Flowers, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Gay, Gen, Heterochromia, Romantic Fluff, Sunsets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 05:34:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19784293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxes/pseuds/nonbinarywithaknife
Summary: pref·er·ence/ˈpref(ə)rəns/nouna greater liking for one alternative over another or others.





	preference;

##### a greater liking for one alternative over another or others.

They’ve finally stopped to rest for the day, and Beau is slumped against the side of their cart. She’s never been a poetic person, but she has to admit, the sunset against the wide fields of wildflowers looks pretty damn incredible. 

Beau’s attention is drawn when she hears the sound of metal scraping against rock. She looks over towards their camp and sees Yasha, sitting a ways from the fire, sharpening her sword. 

She’s hasn’t known Yasha for very long, hasn’t know any of them for very long, except Jester and Fjord. But there’s something about Yasha, something about her quiet surety, the softness in her eyes as they travel, and it makes Beau reach for the flower in her pocket. 

She’d picked it a couple of hours ago, when she’d been walking along next to the cart. She’s noticed that Yasha likes them. Heard Jester ask if she had a favorite, and smiled a little at Yasha’s response that they were all her favorite. 

The flower in her pocket is just a plain wildflower, a little purple violet. Yasha’s probably seen dozens of them. But- maybe it’s the sunset, or the peacefulness of the plains they’re traveling, or the burgeoning companionship of their little group, but Beau stands up and walks over to Yasha. 

Molly’s off gathering kindling with Fjord, so Beau plops down next to Yasha. There’s a pause, when Beau is trying to figure out what to say that won’t seem creepy and isn’t “I’ve been watching you and know you like flowers so here you go, I know it’s shitty but it made me think of you,” when Yasha turns to look at her. 

Beau knows what heterochromia is. She’s pretty sure she learned about it at the Cobalt Soul, probably a line from one of the books she’d cracked open to make it seem like she was studying, but Yasha’s the first person she’s actually met who has it. Her right eye is a striking teal-green-blue, and her left is a lavender-purple. 

“Can I help you, Beau?” she asks, voice low and soft in that way that, were it anyone else, Beau would think they were fucking with her. 

And of course, because Beau is an idiot, what comes out of her mouth isn’t anything useful, but instead, “It matches your eye.”

Yasha makes a quizzical face, and sets her sword aside. Beau fumbles for the flower in her pocket, and presents it awkwardly. She can feel herself blushing and swears internally. 

“This- the, uh, the violet. I meant. It matches your eye. I, uh, I noticed you like flowers, right?”

Yasha takes the violet with a tenderness Beau shouldn’t be surprised to see, and pulls out a journal. It’s small and worn, and as she flips through, Beau sees all manner of dried flowers. It doesn’t take long for Yasha to reach a blank page, and she puts in the violet.

“Thank you,” she says, and the small smile on her face makes Beau’s chest warm like she’s still looking at the sunset. 

“I- uh, yeah. Yeah, no problem.”

They stay sitting together as orange dusk fades to purple, to gray, to black.


End file.
